His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

In lieu of a corset, the dress zips up the back, fitted perfectly. Carrie straightens my skirt, stands, and spins me around.

  “Okay, enough,” she says. “I know you’ve heard the news.”

  I scrunch my nose and play dumb. News? I know not of what you speak.

  “Derek’s back from London. Word is, he’s here to take over for Cal once and for all.”

  My features give nothing away. “Cal didn’t mention anything last night.”

  She smiles conspiratorially. “I assumed it was just a rumor too, that he’s not really back—but I know for a fact he is.”

  My heart hammers against my tight bodice. I can’t catch a full breath no matter how hard I try.

  When I don’t immediately demand more information, she gets cocky, dangling what she knows over my head like bait.

  “Costuming has a special fitting today. Can you guess who it’s for?”

  “The Queen of England.”

  She ignores my dry sarcasm. “Derek.”

  Carrie knows the truth about Derek. Years ago, I eventually opened up to her about all the sad details. She’d already guessed what was going on even before I told her. Apparently, people don’t have the flu for months on end.

  I’d sit if I could, but the dress won’t allow it. Or rather, Carrie won’t allow it. If I wrinkled the tulle before my shift, she’d have my head.

  “That makes no sense. Since when does he need a costume?”

  I think of him as he was eight years ago. His crisp button-downs, fitted slacks, cool sneakers. His clothes could have been bespoke, but I don’t think Costuming had a hand in them. Maybe I’m wrong.

  She’s looking at her nails now, examining them coolly. “Wish I could say more, but it’s confidential.”

  I resist the urge to shake her senseless. My hands fist at my sides in an effort to restrain myself.

  “Tell me!”

  She laughs and finally looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I can’t let the secret out. You know how tight-lipped this company is.”

  My glare says, Who do you think I am? “This is different. We don’t keep secrets.”

  Her dark brow arches. “Are you sure about that?”

  We both know she’s referring to my feelings for my old mentor. I might have copped to my love for him back then, but I’ve assured her that’s all in the past. He means nothing to me now.

  “Carrie!” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  “Ow! Jeez!”

  “Whitney,” a soft voice calls from the hall just before a hand knocks on the door. “We’re a few minutes behind. Are you almost done in there?”

  My eyes dart to Carrie. HURRY. Tell me!

  She interprets my wide-eyed gaze as fear. She thinks I don’t want to be late for my shift. I’ve forgotten I even have a shift. I want info. Now.

  She finds my high heels and bends low to help me strap them on.

  “Carrie,” I demand, voice low.

  Another knock sounds on the door.

  “This isn’t funny,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Okay,” she says, done taunting me. She starts talking fast. “I don’t know all the details, but I think for the next few months—”

  The door is whipped open and the time for secrets is over. The hustle and bustle of the Underground has infiltrated my dressing room. My handler, Julie, is waiting for me with her headset and clipboard in place. A walkie talkie hangs on her hip. Her cotton dress and emerald green apron fit with the theme for Elena’s Castle. She’s meant to be a washerwoman or handmaid, but really, she’s the person who ensures my meet-and-greets run smoothly. She makes sure I’m at my post on time and meeting my quota of children, all the while managing the line. It’s the same position I filled eight years ago.

  A small thing, more mouse than human, Julie scurries in and nods hello to Carrie before checking my appearance. It’s part of her job, and she takes it seriously. A quick loop around me and then a checkmark on her clipboard assure me I look the part.

  Carrie aims apologetic eyes at me as Julie ushers me out. She feels bad.

  “Call me later!” she shouts.

  To get to my post at Elena’s Castle, we use the tunnel below the theme park, unofficially referred to by all of us as the Underground. It is, without a doubt, the best-kept secret at Fairytale Kingdom. The Underground is essentially a city beneath the theme park accessed only by employees. It’s where we arrive for our shifts, clock in and out, and change into costume. There are training rooms, stock rooms, conference centers, break rooms, and offices for the electrical and engineering teams. In the very center, under the castle, there’s a cafeteria with a Subway and a McDonald’s.

  The tunnels in the Underground are wide enough to allow for pedestrians and golf carts. Sprinkled throughout these passageways, there are 35 stairwells that lead to hidden entrances to the park. The secret gateways are necessary because the park is made up of several different themed zones, like Elena’s Village, Enchanted Forest, and Safari Island, to name a few. Elena’s Village is designed as a medieval French village with the grand castle in its center. However, head due north and those bright, friendly cottages gradually give way to a dark and mysterious forest. That section of the park is meant for teenagers and adults. Employees there dress as fairies and huntsmen, nymphs and elves. If a guest saw an Enchanted Forest elf walking along Castle Drive, it would jar them out of the carefully crafted setting. So, the execs don’t allow it. We have to leave our zones via the Underground if we want to go from one area to another.

  If a little kid ever accidentally stumbled into the Underground, it would shatter her world. It’s a gritty underbelly compared to the land of make-believe that exists atop Castle Drive. Down here, fairies walk around in hairnets. Bears walk around in their jumpsuits with their headpieces tucked under their arms. Maintenance men honk the horns on their golf carts, angry if anyone happens to stray into their path. I once stumbled upon a huntsman from the Enchanted Forest getting it on with a smith’s apprentice from Castle Drive. So yeah, no one is allowed down here without an employee badge or a microchipped costume.

  Julie swipes her badge and we gain entrance to a shallow set of stairs that open up directly into the hearth of the great room inside Elena’s Castle.

  On a normal day, I’m excited for my shift.

  Today, the hours stretch out before me in a never-ending sea of children. I’m counting down the minutes until I can leave here and hunt down Carrie for more information. She might as well have thrown a grenade at me in that dressing room. Even now, it’s sitting on the ground near my feet…

  Ticking.

  Chapter Five

  Derek

  Accepting my new role as His Royal Highness feels a lot like walking through the five stages of grief. Denial comes first, and it lasts exactly the length of time it takes me to get from Cal’s penthouse to my new apartment in exec housing. I smile to myself and think, That Cal, what a trip. He really pulled one over on me this time. Working In Character in the park? Hilarious. Then I realize, no. Cal is sincere.

  He expects me to agree.

  That realization gives way to anger—a healthy dose of it. It’s not that I think I’m above the task. Work is work. It’s an honest job just like everything else. Coming from the board, though, it feels like a slap in the face. They know how hard I’ve worked the last decade. They know it’s insulting to suggest I might not have earned the position as Director of Operations.

  I go to sleep fuming and wake up only a few hours later, kicking off my sheets. My run is so abusive, the treadmill sighs with relief when I step off of it. Over coffee, I fantasize about forwarding my CV to our board members—a way of throwing my experience in their faces—and then creating a middle finger out of keyboard characters to go along with it. Once my coffee kicks in, I realize that option lacks tact. I can do better.

  Leaving the Knightley Company is another possibility. Going to work for a competitor would certainly sting, but there’s no way I could go through wit
h it. I don’t have the heart for revenge and I would never do that to Cal.

  Bargaining blends with depression as I drag myself to the Costuming Department later in the morning. I’ve been here thousands of times before, but never under these circumstances—never for a fitting.

  I barely smile at Patty, the receptionist. She’s been here so long, she knew my late grandmother. On another day, I’d stop and hug her, ask her how she’s doing. Today, I keep walking down the hall after a polite nod.

  My grandfather is nuts, the kook everyone assumes he is. My entire life, I’ve looked up to him as a genius, but now that he thinks I should take a role as His Royal Highness, I actually think he might just be insane.

  The thought sours.

  He’s not insane.

  Just…wrong.

  I’m greeted by the Head of Costuming, who ushers me into a room where a tailor and his assistant are waiting.

  While measurements are taken, the tailor only speaks to call out numbers, but his assistant fills in the gaps for him with answers to questions I didn’t ask.

  “You’ll love working in Elena’s Castle. You’ll be with Whitney. God, she’s been in that role for years, hasn’t she, Hank?”

  The tailor nods, reports the length from my hip to my ankle, and then separates my legs so he can get my inseam. It’s a pleasant experience for no one.

  “I don’t think anyone is more dedicated to their post than Whitney. You know she’s won employee of the month more than anyone else here?” I didn’t know, but the assistant doesn’t give me time to respond. “Some people think she’s a little over the top, like we get it, you love working here, but Whitney sees the real magic in this place.”

  I’ll admit, Whitney hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind in the last twelve hours. I’ve been a little preoccupied with the grieving process.

  “You two will make a perfect pair. Ryan’s working alongside her now, but you were born to play His Royal Highness. You have the exact right coloring. The build too.”

  It’s not a coincidence. Cal imagined the character with my father in mind. I’m his spitting image. I have a bone to pick with Cal, though, because His Royal Highness deserves a name. In the original story, Elena’s love interest is just His Royal Highness. I never cared much about that before. Now, it grates my nerves. It’s like he’s completely auxiliary to the main plot of the story. He’s just some guy. Y’know, the prince or whatever. Who cares?

  I care…because apparently, I’m going to go through with this farce.

  The tailor finishes up his work near my crotch—awesome—and then turns me around like I’m a mannequin. With my back to them, I can finally let my features relax into a mask of annoyance.

  “Anyway, you’ll like working with her. Some of those princesses can be snobby, but not Whitney.”

  “Are you two friends?” I ask, curious. If not, she might be the president of Whitney’s fan club.

  The girl laughs shyly. “Oh, um, kind of. I don’t know. Whitney’s sort of friends with everyone.”

  Interesting. My old mentee seems to be a lot more popular than when I first met her. I remember that first assignment I gave her years ago to make a friend. I guess it stuck.

  I know she and Cal have grown close, moving past their mentoring relationship and forming a tighter bond. He’s mentioned her on the phone to me every now and then, and his tone always carries an air of affection, something rare for Cal.

  I was happy to hear she was getting on well at the Knightley Company. She crossed my mind a time or two since I moved to London, but in my head, she was permanently eighteen.

  The first time I met Whitney, she had red lipstick smeared across her chin and had just been doused in iced coffee. Her clothes swallowed her up. She might have been eighteen, but she looked fourteen. Those big eyes were full of vulnerability, unable to even meet my gaze.

  The image of her then stands in sharp contrast with the woman I saw at Cal’s last night.

  Whitney All Grown Up.

  I nearly smile at the idea then realize I’m disappointed she left so quickly. I barely had a chance to take in the changes, to catch up with my old friend before she disappeared behind the elevator doors.

  It’s that thought that has me swinging my Tesla into the executive parking lot right behind a row of shops on Castle Drive after I’m finished at Costuming.

  If Cal is going to insist on having me do this, I want to know what I’m getting myself into. It’s been years since I’ve seen the insanity that takes place inside Elena’s Castle during the meet-and-greet sessions.

  I pass through the gates, swipe my employee badge, and tug open the door that leads onto Castle Drive. The door itself is tucked behind a bank of restrooms, and no one even notices the fact that I’ve just popped up out of thin air. It’s a magic trick of epic proportions. With sights (Castle Drive), sounds (happy music), and smells (funnel cakes and hot dogs and popcorn), we draw guests’ attention to the parts of the park carefully curated for their entertainment and away from the back alleys and secret entrances.

  I join the crowd of people heading north up Castle Drive and spot the windows in Cal’s penthouse. I wonder if he’s standing up there now, watching me accept my fate.

  It’s not my curiosity about Whitney that has me agreeing to Cal’s plan. That has nothing to do with it. It’s the fact that deep down, I know Cal’s right. Not about me proving myself to the board—they can go fuck themselves. It has to do with our employees. I can see the value in stepping out of the boardroom and getting reacquainted with day-to-day life at the park. Our company only exists because of our base-level employees. It’s imperative that we take care of their needs and maintain a work environment they’re not only comfortable with, but proud of.

  It’s been twenty years since I sold balloons for minimum wage. I’ve amassed degrees and climbed the corporate ladder one rung at a time, and now that I’m on the top, Cal’s right—I’m in the clouds. Maybe I do need to work alongside our employees and familiarize myself with their struggles once again.

  Through the back entrance to the great hall, I’m able to bypass the line and take up a spot in the corner of the room, overlooking the crowd. A red rope guides guests around the perimeter of the room, winding them up into a spiral toward their final destination: Whitney.

  The sight of her strikes me like a well-aimed arrow. My stomach clenches and my hand covers it reflexively, expecting blood.

  I didn’t get a good look at her last night, the elevator doors sliding closed before I connected the dots of who she was. Now, those glimpses come together to form an image I can’t quite reconcile. In the years I’ve been away, Whitney has blossomed. For every year I grew older, she did too.

  It’s hard to merge the girl I once knew with the beautiful woman standing before me. She’s centered in the room, framed by the hearth and the crowd huddled around her. Her sweet, round face has given way to a more feminine, alluring heart shape. She has high, apple cheeks and a breathtaking smile made all the more adorable when it’s accented by her dimples.

  She’s changed so much since I’ve been gone, another inch or two taller and filling out her dress with tempting curves. I’m glad to see her jade green eyes—the exact shade of her dress—are unchanged. I take comfort in that. I wish I were looking at them up close. I wish we were alone now, getting reacquainted.

  She bends low to chat with a girl sitting in a wheelchair, whispering in her ear and making her giggle. I smile reflexively and then laugh under my breath when I catch myself.

  She talks to the young girl for longer than necessary. Whitney’s line coordinator tries to catch her attention—no doubt to speed her along—but Whitney ignores her and lets the child feel her dress then her hair. The children are especially in love with her hair. Dark red, nearly auburn, it looks barely tamed.

  I stand there through the remainder of her shift, watching her interact with the guests. The tailor’s assistant wasn’t exaggerating. Whitney goes the extra mi
le with each and every child who steps forward to meet her. Her smile never wavers, her enthusiasm just as strong with the one hundredth family as it was with the first.

  By her side, through the entirety of her shift, is the man currently playing His Royal Highness. The guy looks fresh out of college with a cocky smirk and enough gel in his hair to groom the entire cast of Grease. He’s not the main attraction, but even still, some of the children are eager to meet him. A few of them insist that he and Whitney both crowd in for a photo. When she’s busy with children, he watches her, interest heavy in his gaze. When one child pleads with him to kiss her on the cheek, Whitney laughs, but he’s all too happy to oblige. He wraps his hands around her waist and tugs her toward him. The crowd goes wild. His mouth presses against her cheek and cameras flash. After, he murmurs something against the shell of her ear and Whitney’s cheeks redden. My eyes narrow.

  When the line finally clears and the last child is whisked out of the room, Whitney releases her smile and sighs in relief, stretching out her cheeks and mouth like she’s trying to regain feeling in her face. The gesture makes me smile. It reminds me of the girl I used to know.

  I give her a brief respite before I step away from my vantage point and walk past the red rope.

  She’s doesn’t notice me right away, not until her line manager spots me and blinks three times in quick succession. Her recognition is unexpected. I’ve been away from the US park for a long time.

  “Oh. Hi. Sir, hi.” Her manager repeats the greeting twice, and I’m worried a third will follow before she nods in reverence. “I didn’t know you were here observing the meet-and-greet.”

  I smile to ease her worry. “Unofficially.”

  When I speak, Whitney’s spine stiffens before she slowly turns and glances at me over her shoulder. Her jade eyes narrow on first impulse before she catches herself and smooths her features.

  “Whitney, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment if that’s all right.”

  She frowns at the idea, and I realize I could have found a more appropriate time to reunite with her. She’s just ended an exhausting shift. She’s probably dead on her feet.